


Breaking Bread

by Deannie



Category: The Magnificent Seven (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-24
Updated: 2015-12-24
Packaged: 2018-05-08 21:26:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,650
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5513900
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Deannie/pseuds/Deannie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chris and Josiah are both looking for space and meaning. They find a little of it together over a loaf of bread.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Breaking Bread

**Author's Note:**

  * For [farad](https://archiveofourown.org/users/farad/gifts).



> Fara wanted a story that covered one of the less-discussed friendships in the Seven. I hope you like it, dear! Happy Christmas!

When Chris Larabee woke at dawn two days before Christmas, he knew he was done with waiting. He was done with sitting and watching and knowing something was going to happen without knowing what it was. He needed to move. 

So he saddled up his horse and headed out into the windy, warm December desert and tried not to think. He tried not to remember the sound of the gunfire or the smell of the powder or the godawful yell Buck gave out as he fell, blood splattering on the window behind him as he spun onto the boards outside of the Clarion. 

He tried not to think of what would be waiting for him when he got back to town: Mary, still furious with him over the damn package full of papers that had nearly ended Buck’s life right there. That he feared could still end it. God, just the pain of the thought was enough to send him running. 

He tried not to think about not going back to town at all. It’d be easier than facing the truth of Buck, and Mary, and his whole damn life in that dusty town he’d only ever planned to spend the night in… 

He was nearly to the old dry creek bed north of town when he saw a lone horse in the distance, unattended, head bent to munch on what little grass the winter ground had to offer. It took a long moment to get close enough to recognize Prophet, and when he did, he nervously tapped Pony’s haunches to get him to pick up the pace without tearing into a situation he didn’t know anything about. 

There’d been enough of that already this week. 

He slid silently off Pony’s back and ground tied him securely as he reached the big old horse. Prophet was tied as well, and Josiah’s saddlebags were in place, along with his rifle. His satchel was missing, though, and the bedroll he usually kept tied behind his saddle. Clearly, the preacher had just come out for some air. Chris snorted at his own worry run wild, and wandered toward the small oasis a ways distant—the only thing left of the river that used to be. 

Within the ring of pitiful little trees, Josiah was kneeling beside the tiny waterhole, butt on his heels on his bedroll, talking to the desert. A half-torn hunk of bread and a canteen sat in front of him, along with his open bible. His back was to Chris, so the younger man watched him silently, wondering why in the world he was doing his church business so far from his church and all alone. 

“…and I pray, dear Lord, for the healing and wellbeing of our brother Buck.” 

Chris tensed up but stayed quiet. Praying wouldn’t do a damn thing. 

“You care to add anything, Chris? While we’re here?” Josiah asked suddenly, causing him to jump. 

“Doesn’t seem like there’s much point,” he replied almost bitterly. “Reckon you probably said it all. The Almighty and I aren’t exactly on speaking terms.” He walked forward as Josiah closed his bible and set the canteen aside. 

“Care to break bread with me?” Josiah asked, ignoring Chris’s response. 

“Ain’t been one for communion for a number of years, Josiah.” 

Josiah patted the bedroll beside him. “Who said anything about communion. I haven’t had breakfast yet.” He tore the bread in half and pulled a hunk of cheese out of his satchel, brandishing his knife. 

Chris sat down on the coarse blanket, folding his legs up under him, and took a slice of cheese. “What’re you doing out here?” 

“Same thing as you, I suspect,” Josiah replied. “There’s only so much expectation I can stand. Even during the Season of Waiting.” 

“Damn fool thing to have happened,” Chris muttered, chewing on the coarse cheese and wishing for some whiskey to wash it down. “He never should have been there in the first place.” 

Josiah shrugged. “Buck usually ends up where he’s needed, Chris, you know that.” He chuckled. “Even when no one wants him there.” 

“Ain’t that the truth?” Chris had had more than one _chance meeting_ with Buck in those three years of Hell between the fire and Four Corners. Got to where he figured to find Buck in every town he came to. Damn near always did, too. “Still, if we had just figured it out sooner…” 

“Are you mad because he was there or because you weren’t?” Josiah asked gently. “Because either way, Mary’s safe.” 

“I know,” Chris barked sharply. “Damn it, Josiah, I should have known they were going for that package Montgomery sent. I should never have let Mary keep the damn thing in the first place.” 

Josiah outright laughed at that and Chris resisted the urge to shoot him. “There’s damn near nothing you can ‘never let Mary’ do, my friend.” He smirked down at the cheese in his hands. “I don’t think you’d love her as much if that weren’t true.” 

Chris’s shoulders slumped. He didn’t have anything to say to that because it was pretty much the gospel truth. 

“Don’t you have a church for all this?” he asked quietly, after a long, surprisingly comfortable moment of silence. “Seems like a long way to go to say a few prayers.” 

“Where you are, God is,” Josiah replied. He must have caught the grimace Chris couldn’t hide, because he sighed lightly. “I know you don’t believe—” 

“No, I believe in God, Josiah,” he disagreed. “Always have.” He tried not to remember how right it used to feel, sitting in the church in Eagle Bend, Adam squirming by his side and Sarah singing hymns in that gentle voice of hers. What he brought to mind instead were the useless platitudes and _God will provides_ that he got when the two of them were dust and ashes. “I just don’t have a lot of reason to trust him.” 

Josiah nodded. Best thing about _this_ preacher. He’d spout parables and lessons at you until you were like to kill him, but he never tried to make you see God any way but how you did. 

“I, for one, am glad Buck was in the right place at the right time,” the preacher said quietly. “Just close enough to stop Tilson’s man from getting to Mary and just far enough away not to die from the effort.” 

Chris felt his body sag in relief this time, hearing the truth of it spoken for the fourth time and finally believing it. Because, damn it, Buck wasn’t going to die on him. Not yet. Not now. Not just before Christmas, when it would hit so hard that Chris knew he wouldn’t recover. He wouldn’t have Buck to pick up the damn pieces, so they’d lay there shattered and broken and then it wouldn’t matter what the hell he felt for Mary or she felt for him… 

“I expect you should be glad you trusted that Vin and Ezra would be in their perches, too.” Josiah’s subtle push on the word _trusted_ jerked Chris back from his musings. “Damn near providential that they just happened to be up there on that roof when Tilson’s men came rushing in like that.” 

“Are you saying Ezra Standish was doing the Lord’s work?” Chris drawled sardonically. 

Josiah chuckled. “I’m saying the Lord, like Buck Wilmington, usually ends up where he’s needed.” He knocked Chris’s arm with his. “Even when you don’t want him there.” 

Chris held himself still and for once, didn’t try not to think. Sarah would have loved a preacher like Josiah. Father Martin in Eagle Bend had been fire and brimstone, and she’d always wanted more loving-kindness… 

He shook his head wryly and smiled at his friend. “Could be you may have found your calling, Josiah.” The sun was bright as it rose. “You’d make a good priest.” 

Josiah pretended to consider it. “I’d have to find a church.” 

“You’d have to finish building the place first,” Chris quipped teasingly. 

“I should get back to it, then,” Josiah said, wrapping the cheese in a cloth and eating the remaining bread quietly. He hauled himself up and Chris did the same. 

Chris looked out at the scrub oak around them, through the spindly branches to the arid desert beyond. All barren and half-dead, but for the little drub of a watering hole that sported a pitiful stand of desert thorn that’d be budding soon. Come January, those pale, faded blooms would be one small promise of spring to come. 

He found maybe he could use a little promise. 

“You coming to service tomorrow night?” Josiah asked, no expectation in his words. He’d tied up his bedroll and slung his satchel and canteen around his neck and now stood waiting on Chris. 

Chris balked at the notion, even now. 

“I expect Mary will be there,” Josiah offered and they walked toward the horses. “Billy, too. I hear the Judge is bringing him with him when he comes to pick up that box of evidence Montgomery sent to our Mrs. Travis.” 

Chris had gone to service last year. For a minute or two. It had been more to support Josiah than anything, and he hadn’t been able to stay long. Too much of Sarah in the ritual. 

“Thinking I might spend the evening in the clinic, listening to Buck bitch instead,” he said finally, as they untied the horses and mounted up, turning toward home by unspoken agreement. “Language’ll be a damn sight more colorful, I expect.” 

Josiah chuckled. “You might be surprised.” 

Funny how, accompanied by a friend, the idea of returning didn’t feel so worrisome. The charged atmosphere of Mary's anger and the aftermath of Chris’s own tantrum following Buck’s injury would be hard, no doubt, but Chris’d make it through. 

He had friends who wouldn’t have it any other way. 

******  
the end


End file.
